D R E A M E R
She inhaled deeply, the dusty air trying in vain to suffocate her through her nose. The planet of Mandalore wasn't one she'd ventured to in any of the years throughout her storied past, they were a people she was vaguely familiar with through the periphery and there were those among them she knew and had dealings with, but despite the similarities between the ancient society she'd sprung from and these armor-obsessed people a chance to visit the planet had never presented itself to her. There was a shallow grave here, where she was standing, that belonged to the man she'd followed from the battlefield hundreds upon thousands of light years away, and it'd been the only chance she'd needed to take in order to bring her here. She'd heard something about her late daughter having ventured either to here or a planet of the Mandalorians but Braith had long been dead by the time her, now deceased, daughter, Vesta, would have given her a reason to visit.
The planet wasn't of interest to her a week ago, however, and it was hardly holding her attention now - her eyes, violet and almost luminescent in the moonlight, were only staring down at its surface because there was a corpse of a man that she was prepared to rip from the afterlife and pulling him from his resting place while still buried a meter or two beneath her feet seemed excessively cruel. "Couldn't have made this easy for me?" Braith complained to no one in particular, given that the woman who'd buried him,
Darth Virelia
, was certainly not within earshot - or even planet-side, as far as she knew - and
Brent Warnel
was as dead as .. well, he was a corpse. Evading the locals, specifically on the planet, was quite an easy task - gaining entry to the planet, especially through the space which surrounded it, was an entirely different matter when her mode of transportation was a public one. She'd held her breath for a moment or two after speaking to take her options in excavating the cadaver into question and then weighing them against each other in her head, and by the time she let out a heavy sigh and resumed a more normal pace in breathing it seemed she'd came to a conclusion.Two pale hands reached out in a gesture that seemed to suggest that she was preparing to spread apart the air in front of her. The result of her then pulling either hand apart from the other, however, was for the ground to give way and buckle under unseen pressure. Controlling the elements directly, rather than the environment that shaped them, was slightly less complicated and half as taxing on her patience but did the job twice as well as something as mundane as telekinesis - just imagine pulling the ground apart with a pull from each hand! She blinked away the momentary intrusive thought, an imagined scenario of someone else attempting the task with quite a bit more effort just to make use of telekinetic force, and looked down at his pale, unseeing, body.
"Warnel." She'd spoken his surname as a matter-of-fact, as though she was addressing a living person, but the simple act of saying his name was important to what she'd planned to do next. She didn't know what the afterlife must look like for him, or if he even had the opportunity to enjoy one - she'd simply ceased existing when she'd died, erased in the process of giving the child she'd created through the force life, and had only found herself walking amongst the rest of the living because that same daughter reconstructed her from her husband's memories and echoes in the force that flowed through her daughter's veins - but she knew that, wherever he was, whether he was in the strictest sense of the word or not, heard her voice. Dreams had always been the place she'd held greatest power over, at least until she'd died, and while that was a connection totally lost to her the method of drawing from them and pulling others into them was not quite so removed from her chosen method for resurrection. His body, however, would need to be in a better state if he'd survive being alive again, and her skill in alchemy would be much more valuable than any other skill she'd practiced over the years.
It started with where the Sith had cleaved into him, both his body and Braith herself were fortunate enough that much of what made up organic matter was found in the environment they lived in - the soil, for example, had much of what she used as building blocks for recreating the bits of him that had actually been left behind where he'd died. Stitching him together was considerably less complicated, her own body naturally did this and other species had similar functions so it was a matter of replicating her own biological functions manually through the force, but it was still grueling work and required a level of anatomical knowledge that she'd only gained when she'd decided to work on creating children with her, biologically incompatible, husband. She had nearly a quarter of a day, that is hours without sunlight, to do this out in the open.
So of course she built a large tent that'd keep out sunlight first, made of fabric she'd created for her own clothing that she knew would keep her safe from harmful rays.
All of that to say this was one of the most difficult and tedious tasks she'd ever taken, one she'd decided on entirely on a whim, second only to the literal creation of the fetus that she grew in a tube that eventually became her only surviving daughter; even Vesta, whom she always referred to in conversation as her daughter, didn't actually share any genetic material with either her or her husband. And who was this man she'd taken upon herself to literally stitch back together and resurrect from the dead? Was he family, or perhaps a friend or someone else with at least some degree of meaningful attachment to her? No, Brent Warnel was a Mandalorian that'd died trying to fight two masters of the force, one Sith and one witch, and never stood a chance. This was a matter of respect, perhaps some pity, and genuine curiosity. Was she skilled enough to attempt this, and successfully at that, for the first time? His rather unmarred flesh, aside from whatever scars and the like he'd had before she met him, seemed to suggest the reconstruction aspect was a resounding yes. As the violet smoke filled the tent, however, part of her wondered whether the next step - infinitely more difficult - was something she could accomplish.
"Brent Warnel. Kelhav."
His name, spoken both ways as he'd said to her during their introduction, was key to guide him here - the rest, finding his way back through her voice, was up to him. Braith would act as the intermediary, a bridge of sorts, between the world she was standing in - the living - and the dead, and Brent could either cross back from where he was presently or refuse. Even with everything she knew and the decades of experience she had with other esoteric knowledge, Braith had no idea whether he'd be willing to return or not - and forcing him would be quite a bit more of a challenge than that.
